Night of the Hunter
by liliumweiss
Summary: They say the crowning ceremony is an unforgettable experience in a Princess' life, but Emma has been Queen for so long the only thing she looks forward is the end of the coronation ball and the night of passion she knows she will spend in her lover's arms, the same lover who always, always watches over her even in leopard form.


**From the prompt: "Wereleopard Killian Enchanted Forest AU — protector, pet, and passionate lover of princess Emma, with a lovely collar at all times too, but not a leash (except when they want one 😏). Rated E. Please and thank you. 😁 (I don't have the attention span or words to write it, but I will most definitely be daydreaming about it, so thank you for that train of thought.)"**

**beloved Nonny, you created a monster. Thank you! This is one I came to love the most: I'm really proud of it, especially because I feel it's good smut. Phew. Writing smut is really, really hard, but this? This was something else altogether.**

**I want to thank you, Nonny, for giving me the chance to write it. I fear you wanted sub!Killian, but given his nature and my tendencies, I ended up making him a dom, instead. I really hope you won't mind this liberty I took.**

**A huge, HUGE thank you goes to hollyethecurious for betaing this piece. You are AMAZING and you bested me in my own fic :'D Great minds lol Thank you, Hollye, for being there when I fucked up with my phone I had to stare at the page for a few minutes before understanding what I wanted to say. Ops?**

**Another thank you goes to sherlockianwhovian and doodlelolly0910 who let me talk about this little thing. You have no idea how much you helped, lovelies :3**

**I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!**

**Night of the Hunter**

He can smell her from afar.

He can smell her scent, her sweet, delicate perfume that permeates her flushed skin and tangles in her golden hair, curls tumbling down her back, bouncing ever so slightly with every graceful step she takes.

He can smell the oil she uses during her baths, just like he can smell the soap she rubs over her body, over her collarbone and down between the valley of her plump breasts, across her taut stomach; a fertile field of blooming roses that envelopes her with its scent.

He can smell the sweat just beneath her hairline, the fatigue of keeping the books balanced over her head as she walks in circles around the room.

He can smell her annoyance even, her boredom, because all she wants is to not be forced to attend these stupid lessons. She'd claim her posture is perfect as it is, and he would wholeheartedly agree. After all, he's traced her spine many, many times, whether it was with his eyes roaming hungrily over her figure or with his fingers as they followed the path down her back as they basked in the afterglow or, again, with his tongue, making her writhe beneath him as he tortured her in the most delicious way.

He can smell her arousal, faint at the moment, but omnipresent, dampening her undergarments - that is, when she's bothered with them - and dripping down her milky thighs, slick heat, an inebriating nectar he can never get enough of.

Inside the _pavillon_ Emma sighs, a long exhale that preceded the thumping of books on the marble floor.

Were he able to laugh in his actual form, Killian would've chuckled warmly, no matter if she would glare at him. Emma knows he wouldn't be laughing at her, but at how cute she is when flustered.

Her shoulders slump in what looks like defeat and his senses go on high alert: his Swan is not one to be easily defeated.

Raising from his hiding place in the garden, not too far away from the _pavillon_ yet enough not to be noticed, Killian stretches his muscular feline body, back bowing as he does so, claws digging into the soil.

Slowly, almost lazily, he makes his way to the building, eyes still on his princess but ready to shift to any danger that may find its way - and, ultimately its demise - into the royal gardens.

Emma's tutor has yet to leave the _pavillon_ when Killian comes inside, invisible until he stands almost at the center of the room, the long white curtains blowing beside him like sails.

The tutor, an uptight woman - nay, a _fairy_ \- whose name is Blue, winces at the sight of him. Though she was the one to find him and ask for his services, the woman, even after all these years, has yet to get used to his presence. It's a good thing everyone else reacts that way when they're around him, whether he is in leopard or human form.

That is, everyone but the woman standing with her fists clenched at her sides.

Ignoring the fairy completely, Killian saunters towards Emma, her form shaking ever so slightly, though it would appear quite still to human eyes.

With a low, guttural growl, he nudges her hand with his wet nose, teeth nibbling at the soft skin on the outer side of her hand. Immediately, her body is consumed with musical laughter. Killian remembers very well the first time he heard her laugh, when dark days weren't over yet, looming over them and their growing bond like a threat.

The fury he can _smell_ on her subsides, becoming just a faint memory as relief and happiness wash over her.

Ignoring the fairy's shocked gasp, Emma gathers her skirts and plops down on the floor, gown flaring around her. She shifts a bit more and he hears the soft thump of her shoes being discarded.

Nudging the skirt with his huge paw - he doesn't have a death wish despite his lack of control when in human form, although the many torn clothes would suggest otherwise - Killian then settles down next to her, head resting on her lap.

Immediately, Emma's hands fly over him, one to scratch behind his ear and the other over his ribs, fingers spread so she can feel his strong heartbeat, so she can make sure it's still there.

All Killian can do is bury his head into her lap, showing his princess he's there, that he's alive and he's not going to go anywhere. He is a survivor, after all.

After minutes of silence in which he registers their heartbeats, the chirping of the birds outside, the way the leaves brush against each other, the distant chatting of the servants hurrying to prepare the most magnificent ball for their princess' birthday, Emma finally speaks.

«Do you think anyone would notice if I made her disappear?»

Twisting his neck to look her in the eyes, Killian instinctively arches a brow. He knows, Emma told him many times, that even if he doesn't have regular eyebrows, he still looks as if he's doing it, his muzzle more expressive than he ever thought it was. Many things he discovered were _more_ since he met his Swan.

«Just for a bit?» she asks, capturing the corner of her lower lip with her teeth. His blue eyes - such a peculiar colour, not belonging to actual leopards unless they are snow ones - darken at that, and a low growl resonates in the back of his throat. He should be ashamed of such animalistic reactions, but the twitch at the corners of Emma's mouth make him ignore such trifles. «You'd better stay by my side all evening, or I swear I'll strangle someone.»

The sound he makes sounds very much like a guffaw.

Emma gently but firmly smacks his forehead. «Don't laugh, or you'll be the one getting strangled.» At his mocking expression she adds, «And not in the good way.»

With a growl, Killian bares his fangs.

During his time as her protector he's been threatened, put in danger over and over, and sometimes even on the brink of death, but none of those situations ever instilled fear in him as much as any threat falling from Emma's lips or made towards her does.

With a heartfelt laugh, Emma leans forward and scratches that spot behind his ear, the same that made his tail take off at top speed, completely uncontrolled. Killian huffs, or the feline equivalent for it.

On a whim, he reaches out with his head and licks the ticklish spot on her neck, the one he loves to rub his stubble over whenever he's in human form.

The genuine laugh that bubbles up her throat is payment enough for him: no treasure he ever pillaged and plundered is worth losing the privilege to make her laugh.

* * *

Even in human form he can smell her.

Tonight, however, her true scent is masked by perfumes she decided to pour in her bath - a bath he didn't partake in, much to his disappointment. It makes his nose twitch so much he fears he'll start sneezing like that bloody dwarf. It's not a bad scent, far from it, he's simply not used to it, to Emma hiding herself so.

To be completely fair, Killian understands why she tries to shield herself from every person she meets.

Just as she asked, he stands next to her in human form, clad in his best leathers, the clothes Emma prefers to see him in if he really _needs_ to put them on. His princess does have a dark side, and Killian is perhaps a tad too proud of being the one who made her discover it.

Tonight, the night of the ball held in honour of her coronation as queen, Emma is radiant.

It's not the crown resting atop her blonde hair, its diamonds capturing the light, just like it's not the way her skin has been scrubbed so it would appear as white as snow: it's Emma herself.

For years, as they battled the Evil Queen side by side, she's doubted herself and her capabilities, fearing she wouldn't be able to take Regina down and that she would ultimately disappoint her people.

Killian knows what she meant, what she still means, because it's a fear both of them, much like every other leader, has, but buries deep within themselves, wishing they could just forget about it, and when they do, it comes back in a rush like a tidal wave, drowning them. Now that they are together, however, the tide doesn't seem as strong as it once did.

Emma's joy is not forced, she's not wearing a mask, though she does wear her own armor, knowing all too well most of the people she met are either trying to grant themselves a marriage or grant one for their sons.

Not for the first time that night Emma has to talk him out of the idea of shifting and painting the floor blood red. He would've helped clean up, but apparently his jealousy wasn't worth a war. The smell of her arousal every time his role in her life is questioned and he growls so lowly only she can hear him, arm tightening possessively around her waist, is enough to quench his thirst for blood.

As for the thirst for her body, well, during the evening he had to talk himself - and his cock - down from dragging her into one of the secluded alcoves and have his way with her.

After the last speech is given and the remaining suitors have been indirectly warned to take the best option and not make fools of themselves, the queen and her pirate share a passionate kiss on the dance floor and Emma finally, _finally_ allows him - she would always deny she _begged_ him - to take her to bed.

When the mourning period ended, Emma had to move into the queen's apartments, the ones Killian is very familiar with, having become his own as well. Unofficially, that is. After tonight, though, he's not so sure. Not that he really cares.

«Wait,» Emma gasps against his lips just inside their quarters, back pressed against the cold stony wall. Her right hand leaves Killian's crumpled shirt to fly to her crown, meaning to take it off.

«Leave. It. On.» he growls menacingly, fingers digging almost painfully into her back, ready to tear the crimson fabric from her body if she even thinks about rebelling.

He doesn't have to fear: the glint in her eyes is as bright as the diamonds she's wearing.

Emma licks her lips. «You want to kneel for your queen, _pet_?»

A shudder runs down his spine, cock twitching in his now too tight leather pants. An itch creeps up his neck as he recalls all too well the sensation of the leather collar she loves to fasten around it when she is the one in charge, tugging at it with the matching leash wrapped around one wrist while the other is enveloped by her whip. Though he knows things won't change, Emma referring to herself as his queen instead of princess make his knees buckle.

Tonight, however, Emma won't be in charge at all.

«I want the queen to kneel for the captain.»

He can feel her breath hitch in her throat and a quiet gasp leaves her swollen lips. Gulping, Emma follows his order, not struggling in the least. Killian knows what it means, he knows what his lover wants: she wants to be dominated, to surrender the power she holds and represents and give it to him.

Around her, the gown pools like a sea of silk, the way she looks up at him with those big, jade eyes, no matter how hungry for him they appear, makes her look so innocent. The crown on her head, slightly askew, is the last straw.

Unbeknownst to her, she is in full command even when she thinks she's relinquishing it to him, something Killian had to get used to after he met Emma, but not uncomfortable at all.

He smiles a lazy smile, hand moving to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. Beneath the tips of his fingers, Killian can feel her heart thrumming in her veins as he trails them slowly down her throat.

Emma waits, hands on her thighs, visibly itching to undo the laces of his leather pants and find the treasure inside. But Killian is nothing but methodical, capable of turning into a terrible torturer when the situation calls for it. He would never hurt Emma, he'd die first, take his own life if he even thought he would be her demise, but push her to her limits? Definitely.

His thumb traces her throat, up to her chin and then to her mouth, where he skims the kiss-bruised lower lip. He can feel her hot, laboured breath on his skin, the moist tip of her tongue mere inches away, certainly dying to taste him but not daring to do so: Emma knows better.

There's no scenario, no need to talk about her as if it's the first time they've met, it's the same game they always engage in, just with different titles and a crown on one's head this time. One day, Killian knows he'll have to wear one, but for now he's rather happy with Emma wearing what is rightfully hers yet submitting to him still.

«Come on, lass,» he taunts her, voice low as he looks down at her with hooded eyes, «don't be shy. I don't bite too hard. And only to bring pleasure.»

No, it's not true, when he bites he's capable of taking a life, and they both know it. It's a matter of trust, because she trusts him never to hurt her, whether he's in human form or not.

The flash of amusement in her eyes and the way her lips twitch almost makes him break into a laugh.

Tentatively, brushing her ringed fingers up his legs, the heat of them perceptible through his leather pants, Emma reaches the laces at the front and wraps one around her index fingers. Biting her lip so she won't smile, she tugs at it a little, without however undoing the knot.

Killian groans in frustration.

_In full command, indeed_, he muses, fingertips instinctively digging into her chin as her own run over his clothed cock.

Emma undoes the laces, opening his pants to free his throbbing member. Killian gulps as her warm fingers wrap around the heated flesh. She pumps her hand up and down, slowly, thumb smearing precum over the tip, making him hiss through clenched teeth. However, she doesn't take him in her mouth: he hasn't ordered her to… yet.

«Good girl,» he purrs, taking pleasure in the way her expression shifts: she's proud of herself, and not because she knows his knees are getting weaker by the moment, but because of his praise. Killian smiles. «Open.»

Her mouth falls open immediately, but slowly, sensually.

Covering her smaller hand with his, Killian shifts closer, warm breath blowing over the sensitive skin on the head of his cock. «I want your lips wrapped around me, love. I want you to suck me until I tell you to stop.»

Without hesitating, Emma takes him in her mouth, tongue pressing over _that_ spot under his cock, making him moan.

Killian tilts his head back, eyes closed in pleasure at the feeling of Emma's hot mouth sucking him off. The way her tongue swirls around the tip, sweeping onto the seam atop of it, makes him groan and his knees threaten to give out. It's only by sheer force of will that he keeps himself on his feet, even when Emma hollows her cheeks around him, sucking hard.

His hand flies to her hair, freeing the golden locks from the pins that fall on the floor around her, but Emma doesn't stop working her magic, wrapping her hand around the part of his cock she can't take in her mouth. Not tonight, at least.

In the past, his queen surprised him with her capabilities, both in and out of their bedchambers. He loves the fact that, even after years, she can still surprise him.

She knows she doesn't have his permission to make him come, this is no seduction game by any means. Not from her part, at least. This is no worshipping night, not the sweet kind that has him murmur praises into her skin until she's a quivering mess and can come from the sound of his words alone. Not that tonight he won't worship her, of course, but Emma is not in need of sweet words: she's craving dominance, pure lust that will ignite every inch of her body just as it will his.

From his height, Killian looks down at Emma, her eyes never wavering from his face. He knows, though: she's shifted slightly on her knees, probably to press her thighs together.

He squints slightly, wondering whether or not to punish her for that. Usually, he would, but he didn't tell her not to move at all. What he can do, however, is make sure she's not going to repeat the gesture again for a while.

A wicked smile spreads across his face; beneath his mask of cruelty the passion is threatening to overcome him too soon.

«Stop.»

Perfectly masking her reluctance, Emma pulls away from him, her fingers still wrapped around his hot flesh.

Roughly enough to excite her, but tender enough not to hurt, Killian drags her up by her hair. Thanks to her heels, she's almost as tall as he is, eyes boring into his. It doesn't matter how long they've been together, there's still a spark of innocence in her eyes; he's glad he didn't take it away from her by coming into her life.

He wants to kiss her thoroughly, to sweep her off her feet, but he'll get the chance to do so soon enough. Kiss her, that is. For tonight, he's happy enough with turning her around and pressing her back against his solid chest. He bites back a hiss at the feeling of her skirt against his throbbing cock.

He doesn't want to tear her dress, and as much as he would gladly look forward to her revenge, the gown is one he would love to save from his ruthless hunger.

His nails dig into her skin, so much he leaves red marks on her shoulders as he drags the sleeves down her arms, her bosom jutting out, the valley between her breasts so tempting, inviting him to pour oils and honey down her chest, or to cover it with his seed.

The thought - and memory of the times in which he's partaken in said fantasy - is almost enough to make him come undone on the spot.

Restraining himself from licking a path from her shoulder up her neck, Killian finds the laces at the back of the dress, carefully hidden from prying eyes, and unfastens them. The gown almost falls apart as he tugs at the ribbons, Emma's free arm going to support it and keep it pressed against her chest. It only takes a growl from Killian to make her move it and for the dress to fall in a heap at her feet.

The sight of her in her shift and stockings, not to mention the corset pushing her breasts higher, is something he would love to capture in a drawing. One day, he'll ask her to pose for him again, perhaps in the same clothes, but definitely with the crown on her head.

Killian gulps, the fact that her undergarments are snow white, making him sweat. Bloody hell, she hasn't radiated so much innocence since their first time together.

He looms over her, nose brushing her hair, nostrils filling of _her_ scent. With one thick finger he traces a line down the side of her neck and across her chest, just above the heavy necklace she's worn all day long. His eyes narrow. Yes, she would be a such a sight tied up the way he wants her to, wearing only the precious jewelry he once used to steal from queens like her.

«Undress yourself.»

The shock is clear on her face, her expression bewildered as if he had just poured a bucket of icy water over her. The malicious smile on his lips only widens further.

With trembling hands and a sharp intake, Emma obeys.

Slowly, she unties the corset as instructed, her breasts bouncing slightly as she frees them, nipples straining against the sheer material of her shift.

Instinctively, he licks his lips, almost _tasting_ her on his tongue, and wondering, not for the first time, what her milk would taste like. It's a thought he's been toying with a tad too much lately, one he knows neither Emma or himself is ready to face, not when the kingdom is still fragile. Besides, Killian may have inquired about the length of engagements when it comes to royals of Emma's status and he can't really allow himself to put a bastard in her belly. Whatever child they would be lucky to be blessed with would be born well into their marriage: he won't risk any of them to be cast out from uptight royals, no matter what could become of him.

There would be time for that in the future, much like for the marriage proposal he's planning to ask once in Arendelle in six months time.

Though part of his mind might have wandered off towards unexplored paths, Killian's attention is still on Emma, following her lithe form walk towards the bed. Once she's facing one side of it, the side that usually starts off as hers - though ultimately she ends up occupying all the mattress whilst sprawled over him - Emma slips one foot from her heeled shoes, the movement slow as she bends her knee and brings her toes to rest on the mattress.

Deliberately slowly, she brushes her fingers over the thin material of the stocking, up to her mid-thigh, where it ends in a strip of lace. The hem of her short shift has ridden up her thigh, cascading down her hip and baring more of her creamy skin to Killian's eyes.

She's pulled her lower lip between her teeth, something she knows makes him go mad with lust given the innocence of the gesture. Without looking at him, she slips her thumbs beneath the lace, slowly pushing the stocking off.

Unconsciously, Killian has taken himself in hand, pumping up and down his cock in the slow rhythm she's set for undressing herself. He knows he has to stop, and he will, soon, he won't come now, but the sight is so erotic he can't just look at her and do nothing, especially not when every inch of skin bared pushes him towards the edge.

She doesn't throw the stocking at him, not tonight, at least, and proceeds to take off the other one. When her other leg is naked, too, Emma turns to face him with eyes downcast, her fingers going to her shoulder to toy with the thin strap of her shift before letting it slip down her arm. She does the same to the other one and she looks like sin incarnate as she stands with the thin material almost hanging from her breasts like one of those models portrayed in once banished portraits.

It takes another slight pull on the laces at the front of the neckline for the shift to open further and slide down her body, finally leaving her naked in front of him.

For a moment, Killian cannot even remember his own name as he's washed over by her beauty like a tidal wave hitting the rocks.

She's almost ethereal in the faint glow of the candles around them, rosy nipples darker as they strain against the slight chill of the evening coming in from the open windows. With hungry eyes, Killian follows an invisible path down her taut stomach to where a golden treasure lies. He should've known she wasn't wearing undergarments, his naughty queen.

Forcing himself not to throw her on the bed and tongue her into oblivion before burying himself so deep inside her he would lose what little sanity he's clung to, Killian tucks himself away, grimacing at the discomfort. He's still fully dressed, which makes his proximity to Emma even more erotic.

«On the bed, face up,» Killian whispers in her ear, nose almost brushing her cheekbone but not quite, taunting her and tormenting himself at the same time.

Licking her lips, Emma complies, hands resting at her sides. He can see visions of nights past, nights on which he feasted on her, dipping fruits in the whipped cream adorning her nipples in a swirl and lapping at the dark rivulets of melted chocolate coating her whole body. _Delicious_.

Looking at her, Killian makes sure she isn't uncomfortable wearing her crown in that position, but she seems relaxed, surely trying to prepare herself for what's to come. He hides his grin from her as he slowly walks to the old, tall dresser only they have the key for in the form of the cross and skull charm hanging from a chain around his neck. As for Emma, she has a matching charm mounted on a ring she never slips off her right index finger.

Knowing she's looking at him, Killian takes his time discarding the heavy leather coat, leaving it on the chaise longue, his muscles flexing beneath his shirt, straining the thin material.

From one of the top drawers, he takes leather bonds, the material creaking softly as he wraps them around his hand. He won't blindfold nor gag her, only torture her a bit.

Keeping the restraints out of her line of sight, Killian moves to the foot of the bed where he stands for a minute, watching her, absorbing the heavenly vision of her willing body into his mind.

Gently but firmly, he grabs her ankle, slowly wrapping the strap around it and fastening it tight enough to slightly bite into her skin but not enough to hurt her or leave an indelible mark. Only Killian was allowed to mark her forever.

After securing her left ankle to the bedpost and relishing in the way her thighs part, showing him her glistening center, Killian moves to the head of the bed where he proceeds to wrap the bindings around her wrists joined above her head, arms stretched and trembling.

Once he's tied the leather strap to the carved headboard, one they'd commissioned just for that usage more than an aesthetic need, Killian speaks again.

«You're not allowed to move or make a sound. I won't blindfold or gag you: restraining yourself is completely up to you.»

It's almost therapeutic, he'd dare say, especially given his upbringing, the way he and Liam have been used as slaves and trained like animals after they first presented as weres. Killian doesn't do this to make Emma suffer, he'd kill himself with his own bare hands before harming her, but he enjoys - they both do - the sexual aspect of the torture. The Cricket would probably enlighten them on their psyche, but neither Killian nor Emma desire to speak of their sexual preferences with him.

Methodically, Killian goes back and forth between the bed and the dresser, laying down the items he wants to torture her with and a brand new bottle of peach and opium scented oil, one of the latest creations of Sultana Jasmine.

The first thing he picks up is a peacock feather, tracing her forearm first, down towards her neck where he knows she can't stand being touched from something that isn't his nose or lips. There's a sharp intake; Killian almost pouts when she doesn't move nor gasps. He's trained her well, but that's not just his own merit: Emma has been known to be stubborn as hell.

Nothing can stop the smirk of delight curling his mouth as she thrashes slightly when the feather teases her pert nipples. Immediately, he pulls his arm away, rejoicing in the way she bites down on her lower lip to stop herself from screaming in frustration.

He awaits in silence, not moving at all from where he stands, eyes roaming over Emma's body as her breath goes back to a regular rhythm. When he's sure she's ready to take more, Killian lowers the feather back where it was before.

More than once she breaks, the feather's pressure too much and not enough at the same time, especially when Killian avoids her mound, using the tip of his torture instrument to just _brush_ over the gold hair there. At that, Emma cries out, making him stop for seventy-nine seconds. Counting is a method as good as any to keep himself sane.

Killian knows when to be magnanimous, deciding not to tickle the soles of her feet: there's only so much Emma can bear.

Yet, that doesn't stop him from casting the feather aside in order to take another item from where it lies between Emma's spread feet.

The middlemist's petals are both a blessing and another circle of hell to Emma, Kilian knows it from the way her eyes shut close, throat moving oh so sensually when she gulps. He has to block out the flood of images of his cock bulging in her throat with him looking down at her, sometimes applying a slight pressure. His Emma is not just a queen, she's a goddess.

This time, he does tickle her feet, biting back a laugh when she crosses her toes: it still is a movement, therefore he can't continue for several more seconds.

The path he traces is unlike the one he followed with the feather, and so are his movements and the pressure he applies. Licking his lips, he twirls the flower over her aching nipples, the whimper she emits so low even he has trouble hearing it. For a moment, he contemplates whether or not to stop, but he'll put her out of her misery soon enough. Therefore, he stops, Emma's whine music to his ears.

Back and forth he drags the flower up her legs, this time allowing himself to dip it between her thighs, tracing her folds and collecting her nectar as it drips onto the bed. Like the bastard that he is, Killian then brings the flower to his nose, inhaling deeply, all the while keeping his eyes locked with Emma's. She gulps audibly, her whole body trembling slightly.

Smiling evilly, he places the glistening flower back in the vase from whence he took it.

Taking his time, Killian sits down on the bed, back to Emma, and slips his boots off, standing then barefoot to place them near the dresser. Knowing her eyes are following him once more, Killian takes off his vest, twisting around slightly to roll the sleeves up his forearms, muscles flexing and tattoos almost coming alive on his skin.

The next item he picks up is the bottle of scented oil, relishing in the way Emma's eyes widen. Being tickled is one thing, she knows he can stop the touch of any other item when it becomes too much, but liquid? That he cannot stop.

He opens the bottle, breathing in the rich scent of the opium perfectly mixed with the sweet and fresh aroma of peaches. Jasmine knows him well.

Settling with one knee bent beneath himself, Killian reaches out with one hand and brushes damp strands of hair away from her sweaty brow. Her bright eyes are shining with complicity and excitement. Killian almost kisses her, but he's learned not to break the rules of his own game.

Silently, Killian tips the bottle, one thumb over the opening so only a few droplets fall on the hollow of her neck, the liquid sloshing at her every breath. He moves his thumb a little, allowing a thin trickle of oil to coat the valley between her breasts.

Blue eyes watch as the rivulet descends down her sternum and stomach as Emma arches her back.

Killian tuts, clicking his tongue. Emma's eyes bore into his, begging him to let her move. His only answer is another tip of the bottle over her belly button. She sucks in her stomach making the oil pool in the hollow she created only to slide down the side of her waist when she exhales.

Still holding her pleading gaze, Killian moves his arm back, until she shuts her eyes close and a sob leaves her tormented lips. His smile widens as he looks back to where his hand is suspended over Emma's center, the oil drenching her pubic hair and dripping down her sensitive folds, mixing with her juices, and onto the bed. Neither of them ever cared about the mess.

Killian can't help but look at her, admiring the way she's hungrily staring at him, how her eyes sparkle with raw need, a need he plans to satisfy soon enough. He just has to torment her a little longer.

Allowing Emma a few moments to collect herself, Killian stands, placing the bottle on the small round table next to the bed where a pile of books sits next to an intricate candelabra.

As he pads back to the dresser, Killian lifts his shirt from the back, exposing the black ink there, lines and curves tracing the form of a ship surrounded by a kraken's tentacles, its hull transformed into a skull from whose mouth the tentacles seem to come out, curling around different parts of the ship, one of them tightly holding onto the anchor.

It reminds Killian of the fate of many ships, their inept captains too proud to back off when faced with the terror of the seas. It's not just a reminder, however, it's part of his story, of who he is, and he particularly loves the way Emma's fingers trace the black lines. She seems to be in love with his tattoos as much as she is in love with him, and Killian can't keep his heart from bursting with deep joy at the thought.

From another drawer, Killian takes out a scented candle, carefully hiding it from Emma with his body. Using one of the candles hanging near his head, he lights up the one in his hand, the whiff of vanilla filling his nostrils.

Emma gasps at the sight of the burning candle, eyes darkening and body quivering. Playing with wax is something new for her, something she enjoys very much, but never in her darkest thoughts she ever thought tonight would involve it. She's glad Killian can still surprise her.

Her eyes follow him as he places the candle on the table next to the oil, letting it burn and melt. No speaking still, he reaches the foot of the bed once more, deftly undoing the leather bindings, fingers massaging her ankles to stimulate the circulation. It stings, and Emma's face scrunches in discomfort.

A loud yelp echoes in the room as Killian grabs her ankles and lifts her from the bed, twisting her roughly in the air and letting her fall face down on the bed. He doesn't wait for her to catch her breath, swatting her ass hard; the hand-shaped imprint he leaves on her cheek tinting a delicious red.

«You can talk, now, but I advise you don't move too much,» Killian tells her gently, brushing her damp hair away from her flushed face and shoulders. She's smiling, humming in delight, almost purring, at the way he brushes his knuckles over her cheek.

Emma hisses in pleasure when the first drop of candle wax drips onto her skin, right between her shoulder blades, and down, creating a thin line to the center of her back, wax gathering into the dip of her spine.

«How is that?» Killian asks huskily, trusting Emma to use her safeword if she doesn't feel comfortable.

Emma sighs, content. «Wonderful.» The sound turns into a moan when Killian tips the candle once more and slowly traces his name on her back, temporarily branding her as his. He lowers himself over her, close enough for her to sense his closeness but far enough not to let the wax coat his chest hair.

More decorations follow, swirls, flowers, an anchor on her right buttock, even. It makes her giggle, the sound melting into low moans whenever he pours more wax on her. This is as much as some kind of foreplay as it is a way to care for her.

The last act consists in a drizzle of wax poured on her lower back, creating an intricate design of curved lines going from one hip to the other and finishing with a fat drop in the hollow between her buttocks. Killian is careful not to let it slip lower, but he swats her clean cheek before bending down to bite it. Hard.

«Fuck!» Emma screams, quivering under him, arms straining against her bonds as she arches her back.

Killian grins, sucking a mark beneath the divots of his teeth. When he rises up to his knees on the bed, he takes his time to admire his handiwork, the wax a special one that doesn't harden right away.

«Wonderful,» Killian murmurs to himself, setting the still-burning candle down on the table, letting its scent fill the room. Slowly, he takes off his pants, cock hard and bobbing against his stomach. Grabbing the bottle of scented oil, Killian goes back to the bed, kneeling over it and sitting back on his haunches.

«Up on your knees, love.»

The order is followed in a second, Emma scrambling to her knees, keeping them wide and exposing herself to him. Killian groans at the sight of her sex, her folds slick with her juices and the oil he poured over her earlier. His self-control about to slip, Killian strokes himself to keep himself from spilling his seed too soon.

Arse in the air, cunt spread in front of his hungry eyes, back coated in vanilla wax and, cherry on top, the shining crown over her head, Emma is the most delectable of banquets. He bends forward, he can't help it, he needs to taste her.

«Gods, _Killian_,» Emma cries the moment his tongue connects with her sex, thighs quivering and hips bucking towards his face, her self-control long gone by now.

It takes her a few slips of his tongue to make her come, and Killian can't help the grin curling his lips. «My beautiful queen,» he praises her. «So needy. Someone would think you enjoy being toyed with, being tormented. Someone would say you even love the pain.»

Emma whimpers at his words: they hit her like a surge of magic in contrast to the deafening silence she's had to endure until now. Killian knows how much his voice turns her on, how his rough and deep tone can set her aflame with the shortest word and how his praises can take her over the edge of pleasure in no time at all.

All the new ways in which he uses this knowledge is what excites Emma the most, she loves to explore her sexuality, her body, and Killian is honoured she's chosen him to learn her own secrets.

Not hearing any reply coming from her mouth, Killian threads his fingers through her loose locks and pulls. Hard. «Answer me, love,» he growls in her ear, cock nestled between her buttocks oh so deliciously he has to bite the inside of his cheek not to just take her.

«I am! I do!» Emma whimpers, hips swaying as she tries to rub herself against Killian, to obtain that friction she desperately craves.

A loud smacking sound and the sting on her arse warns her not to move. Had it been another type of night, she would've disobeyed him only to be punished. For tonight, she's suffered enough, and Killian, too, can't wait to be buried inside of her.

The way she's pulled upright allows her to use her hands to keep herself steady when needed, the leather straps digging painfully but deliciously into her skin.

Killian's fingers wrap around her throat, pulling her back almost to his chest. «You are perfect.» Love bites are left in her skin, a trail going from her neck to her shoulder. There's a wicked grin on his face that Emma can't see when he brings the bottle of scented oil in front of her. «Open.»

If she's surprised by his order, she doesn't show it at all, body still trembling.

Once he makes sure her lips are parted enough, Killian brings the bottle to her lips. «Hold it.»

Angling her head so she won't accidentally drink it, Emma does as she's told, lush lips wrapping around the glass neck. Killian is almost thankful he doesn't have a good view for he might very well burst by the sight of it.

«Good girl,» he purrs in her ear before lining himself up and pushing inside her in a smooth, hard thrust. Their twin groans echo against the walls, Emma's walls tightening around Killian like a vice, almost threatening to send him over the edge too soon.

She's so hot around him, her core like molten lava welcoming him so easily it really feels like returning home. _Emma_ feels like home.

Swiftly, Killian takes the bottle from her mouth, allowing her to breathe and gasp when he pours the oil down her neck and back, its rich scent, mixed with the vanilla one of the candle and the one that's simply _Emma_ threatens to take over what little rationality he has left.

He can feel the oil pooling where his pelvis is flush against her arse, the wax slowly being dragged down her back. Roughly, he pushes her face down on the mattress, his hand slipping from her hair and down her neck as the other throws the now empty bottle somewhere in the room where it falls - thankfully - on a carpet with a dull thud. Fingers dance over her skin, kneading the flesh in a ravenous massage, the feeling of the melting wax beneath his fingers and the oily texture of the perfumed liquid an unfamiliar one when he's used to touching her directly, to feel her skin right beneath his.

Emma cries out louder than before when he thrusts roughly inside of her, her walls clenching so tightly he would've been brought to his knees had he been standing. Up and down his hands trail, squeezing her cheeks and hips to bring her closer.

«C-captain,» Emma stutters between pants, letting him know she's about to come.

«So soon?» Killian tsks, grinding himself into her, the head of his cock bumping into her cervix. Emma screams but he doesn't slow down, buttocks clenching with every thrust and pleasure pooling at the base of his spine. He can't let go, not now, not yet.

Emma's climax is so powerful he can hear her voice break even if her face is buried in the blankets as her walls clamp down around him repeatedly, dragging him even deeper.

She's still a shivering mess, yet Killian doesn't stop, fingers threading through her hair and pulling her back flush to his chest, hips snapping up with a sound smack against her flesh. His mouth descends upon her neck, sucking dark marks there as his hands glide up her stomach to her plump and heavy breasts, cupping them, tweaking and plucking the hard nubs just to make her moan loudly in ecstasy.

Their skin is sweaty and covered in both oil and wax, surely making a mess of the bed, but neither of them cares, too lost in the throes of passion and in one another to be able to acknowledge anything else outside the way their bodies and souls are connected.

From her bruised neck, Killian trails his lips up to her ear, biting the tender lobe. Emma's hips snap back with force, making _him_ groan in pleasure, cock twitching inside her. He's too close, and he knows she is, too, but he's not done with her. Too bad there's not a mirror in front of them. Yet, he can still see her in his mind, and his hand can see for him, too.

«I wish I could see you, my queen, see how you look so debauched with your ancestors' crown askew on your head,» Killian rasps low in her ear, one hand keeping her upright as he keeps moving inside her while the other traces her collarbones from one extremity to another, «I wish I could see the blush on your skin, from your round cheeks and down, down over your chest. There I would admire your magnificent breasts.» He weighs one soft mound in his palm, rolling the nipple between his fingers, the keening sound that leaves Emma's lips is music as angelic as a siren's call. «I'd love to see your stomach tremble,» Killian continues, the knuckles of his other hand slowly trailing down her stomach before he grins against the shell of her ear, tongue peeking out to trace it as he presses his palm right over he can feel himself buried inside her. Emma gasps for air, hands pulling at her restraints. «Do you feel it, my queen? Do you feel how deep I am inside of you?» He can't help but press his hand harder against the bulge his cock creates with every thrust.

«_Killian_!» Emma screams, lungs begging for air. «_Please_!»

But Killian only shakes his head, damp strands of hair tickling her cheek. «How long will it take me, love? How many flicks of my fingers over your precious pearl will it take me to bring you over the edge? Or will you only need a slight brush over it?»

Of course, he never planned on going easy on her, on _just_ brushing her clit, nay: he trails middle and index fingers down her abdomen to the hard bundle of nerves, flicking it faster and faster as her screams fill his ears and heart.

He shows no mercy, nor does Emma expect any, and soon she's flying over the edge of pleasure, his name a shouted prayer falling from her lips, her fluttering sex _gushing_, drenching Killian's hand and cock, coating his straining balls and down his trembling thighs as he, too, chases his own release.

Her name is a prayer on his lips as he presses himself further inside her, his seed spurting hotly within her, thick ribbons coating her womb and walls.

Gently, with his forehead pressed against her shoulder and breath short, Killian lies them down on their side, one heavy hand going to free Emma's wrists. He brings first one and then the other to his lips, fingers tenderly brushing over the red marks.

Nestled against him, Emma whimpers at the sensation of blood rushing again through her veins, pain Killian slowly takes away from her with gentle caresses and kisses, triggering her healing magic. Sometimes, she would joke sayin he's her personal source of magic and, in a way, he is: Emma might hold the lightest of magic, but it's her emotions that fuel said power, and what more powerful magic than True Love is there?

They stay like that until Killian's soft member slips from her, eliciting another moan from Emma. «Shush, my love,» he whispers in her ear, nuzzling her cheek. «You'll feel better soon.»

Beneath the castle is a hot spring no one but the royal family and few selected members of the castle staff knows about, the waters not too hot but definitely warm enough to bathe in.

It's there that Killian carries Emma, body curled against his chest, making his way down the narrow stone staircase hidden behind a door in the queen's chamber.

The first time Emma showed it to him, he was pleasantly shocked, but didn't lose his time in following his temptress of a princess in the steamy waters.

Part of the closest bank has been sculpted into a nook where one can sit and enjoy the water lapping at their body.

Emma hisses in discomfort when her sensitive flesh comes in contact with the warm water, arms tightening around Killian's shoulders. The stinging sensations fades slowly the more she stays in the water, Killian sat on the stony underwater bench and her body floating boneless.

A sigh leaves her lips as she tilts her head back on his shoulder, eyes closed still and hair free of all the pins and the heavy crown, left unguarded on the bed.

Killian leans back, one arm thrown over Emma's stomach as he tilts his head backwards and closes his eyes, basking in the afterglow and aftercare of such a rough lovemaking.

What seems ages later, Emma's voice breaks the silence, a whisper in the underground cavern. To his sensitive hearing, however, her words echo against the walls.

«If we ever were to have children, would they be wereleopards, too?»

To be entirely honest, Killian doesn't know what shocks him the most, the fact that Emma is talking about children or that she's been wondering if they would be like him. It means she's thought about them, much like he has. Gods, has he ever.

Gulping, Killian nods. «I believe so, aye. After all, Liam and I both inherited it from father. Mama always used to tell us stories of the Jones clan to protect us and warn not to reveal our secret and... you are not listening to me, are you?» The amusement in his voice is clear, the grin on his lips widening as she bites on her lower lip and shakes her head.

«I heard what you said, but I just… I like how it sounds,» Emma admits, sheepishly, cheeks reddening, eyes still close. «Mama, I mean. I like it.»

The sound of his breath hitching in his throat surprises even him, but nothing shocks him like the way his heart seems to melt in his chest, the fantasies he's had… «I like it, too.» His voice is gruff, the admission leaving him breathless.

Emma hums in contentment. «Good,» she sighs, one dripping wet arm moving to wrap around the back of his neck, fingers threading through his dark locks, effulgent green eyes gazing up at him with unconditional love. «We need to wait a bit longer, I'm afraid, but never fear, my love: we'll be a happy family for a very, very long time.»


End file.
